


death sucks (and then you live)

by CaptainOzone



Series: Batfam Week 2018 [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Batfam Week 2018, Batfamily Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is Robin, Time Travel, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOzone/pseuds/CaptainOzone
Summary: Red Hood is starting to put some serious plans in motion when he's attacked by a not-so-welcome blast from the past.Written for Day 5 of Batfam Week 2018: Time-Travel





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To be perfectly honest, I am probably more excited to read all the delightful responses to this prompt than I am to post my own, lol. No shame.
> 
> This is set during the events of Batman: Under the Red Hood, and also before Jason's death, because time travel. :P 
> 
> Bumped the rating to mature only because there are quite a few f-bombs.

**~Now~**

It wasn’t a pretty scene, but that was justice for you. It was unrelenting. _Honest_. The word’s very definition implied some inherent ugliness. Forget fucking rose-colored glasses. Forget optimism and idealism. There was no place for any of it when the truth was all that mattered.

And the truth was this asshole deserved everything he got and more.

“Good riddance,” Red Hood growled, shoving the dealer’s headless corpse over. The chair the body was tied to fell with a satisfying crash, splashing into a large pool of blood.

This was number eight. In his duffle bag were seven other fuckheads ( _ha)_ who thought it would be a good idea to sell to kids on _his_ turf. Eight dealers were now dead, with hardly a soul left to miss them. They’d never be able to touch those kids again.

Like he said. _Justice_.

Jason placed his eighth trophy into his bulging bag and zipped it closed, checking his digital watch as he did. Thirty minutes ‘til showtime. He’d made good time. Everything was beginning to come together nicely.

And, as most things in his life, the moment things were looking good, everything went to complete shit.

He was just about to straighten from his crouch and heft the bag over his shoulder when something slammed into his back.

Jason cursed, whipping around, half-expecting to find a gunman lurking above, another bullet already ready to embed itself in his Kevlar armor, when he realized that the something that struck him was no bullet.

It was a person.

How in the hell had someone snuck up on him? _Sloppy. Amateurish_. _Stupid._ His hand slid down to his gun-holster, but his attacker had anticipated the move, using a hard heel to kick his pistol from his hand, and...

 _What the fuck?_ Was this asshole _climbing up his back?_

It took a second too long for Jason to realize this weight was far too light, far too nimble, for an adult.

What little _shit_ dared to—?

Jason’s hesitation cost him, and strong arms wrapped around his throat, his opponent shouting wordlessly as he tightened his grip, heels digging into Jason’s rib cage.

Yeah, no. This wasn’t happening right now.

Jason brought his hands up to the arms trying to choke him out, and crouched low, ready to throw himself backwards and drive his attacker into the ground if that’s what it took. The fucker was obviously well-trained because, again, he reacted instinctively, releasing Jason and using his body as a spring board to get away, kicking him in the head as he went.

It was only thanks to _Jason’s_ training that he didn’t over-balance and topple over. As his opponent landed some distance away, Jason stayed low, pulling a jagged knife from its sheath at his belt.

And froze when he finally saw who it was he was fighting.

The kid couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He was small for his age, with dark hair and wearing...

Shit. Those colors were blinding, recognizable beyond all doubt.

_Familiar._

This couldn’t be Bruce’s new Robin. That kid, much to Jason’s reluctant admiration, was not afraid to make a few costume adjustments, and he'd had the sense to upgrade the armor and cover and protect his legs. This kid, who _ever_ he was, stayed true to the classics, standing proudly before him in that horrid scaly green leotard and short tunic, legs as bare as the day he was born.

It couldn’t be Drake? No, Drake was sly as a snake—his every move calculated and deliberate—and this kid...he was a brawler, through and through. Jason could tell by his stance alone. He knew the type. _He_ was that type.

This was someone new, and Jason did not like it. He wasn’t about to let Bruce ruin _another_ one. No, not again.

But...that couldn't be right. He’d spied on the Family for months before he felt ready to make a move on Gotham’s criminal underworld. Drake was the only kid acting as Robin. There had never been more than one acting Robin at a time, anyway, what was he smoking.

Better question: what kind of sick trick _was_ this? Surely some random kid didn’t get a Halloween costume and go out at night without Mommy and Daddy’s permission just to play hero?

The longer Jason thought about it, the more horrified he became.

“You don’t want to do this, kid,” Jason said.

“Of course I do. You’re not about to get away with this,” the other Robin snarled. “I _saw_ you. I don’t care why you did it, you sick fucktard. Batman and I are gonna to take you in.”

“No, kid, I mean it. Go home,” Jason said, wincing. _He_ might be okay with the violence he’d wrought, but there was no way a kid should have seen that shit. “Go _home_. You’re  _not_ Robin. You could get killed out here, okay? Do you understand that?”

The imposter’s face went slack with surprise. “You...you’re nuts,” he said. His fists tightened, and he was back on guard. “But you know what? I’ve fought crazier. Come at me, shit-face.”

“No,” Jason said. He may have felt no guilt putting the beatdown on Drake—Drake knew exactly what he was getting into when he signed up for Robin—but Jason doubted this kid had a single clue. He wasn’t about to hurt an innocent, if deluded, kid. “I won’t.”

Imposter-Robin moved without warning, and Jason caught the birdarang on instinct, only to have it detonate in his face before he could berate himself for being such an _idiot_.

That was literally the oldest trick in the book.

Thank God for his helmet. He might be half-blind now, his lenses cracked and smeared with soot, but the thing had protected him from burns and serious injury.

It occurred to him that there was no way some rando got ahold of functional birdarangs without the Bat's blessing, but Jason didn't have the time to let that sink in. The kid was a whirlwind, always moving and talking up a storm. Jason blocked blows, never retaliating outright, and watched shrewdly as the imposter pulled off one of Grayson’s moves...followed up with a pretty sick butterfly kick.

Jason almost let that one land. It was damn impressive. He'd had trouble learning that one from Bruce himself, once upon a time. Once he'd gotten it down, he'd shown it off every chance he could. 

He'd learned that move when he was fifteen, too.

...Something really wasn’t right here.

“Kid, stop!” Jason shouted eventually. “I think we need to—" The kid had managed to slip under his defenses and jab him right in the kidney. "Shit, you little fuck!" he wheezed.

Imposter-Robin just smirked and continued shit-talking him as he fought and flipped and out-maneuvered Jason at every turn. Jason, for his part, began cursing and snarking right back at him. He almost laughed a few times, the kid’s humor singing in tune with his own.

It was almost as if...

Full recognition struck him out of the blue, and he stopped dead in the middle of another rapid exchange of blows with the kid, who took full advantage, shoving his fingers into the loose hinge of Jason’s helmet.

Jason allowed it to happen, heart pounding, disbelief freezing him in place. His helmet fell away, and Boy Wonder crowed in victory, looking about ready to whip him right across the face with the hunk of busted, scorched metal.

But just as his arm was about to swing down, he froze, too, head cocking and jaw falling open as he got a look at the man under the hood.

“Holy...” The boy’s arm fell, helmet dangling from nerveless fingers. “Holy _shit_.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth, kid,” Jason muttered. “How’d you even _get_ here?”

“You...” The boy swallowed, his confusion morphing into fury as he shook his head. “No, this has to be a trick. Magic, an illusion, some damn nightmare. There’s no way—”

Ha, if only, Jason thought. The multiverse truly hated him, didn’t it? First it killed him and then it sent his innocent fifteen-year-old-self back from the past to torment him? Just to force him to watch the disgust and horror dawn on mini-Jason’s wee face when he realized the truth of what he was doomed to become?

(Yeah, fuck you, too, multiverse).

“What?” Jason asked, laughing darkly, his chest _aching_. “That I’m you? Surprise, little Jason,” he said, unable to prevent himself from going straight for the throat. “Our life sucks.”

Robin—mini-Jason—looked unnerved. He shook his head violently again, backing away. “No. This isn’t real.”

“We know Kryptonians, Amazonians, sorceresses, and Martians,” Jason pointed out. “What makes you so certain time travel isn’t within reason in this weird ass world Batman introduced us to?”

“Time travel?” the boy repeated, a little uncertainly. Jason could see the kid beginning to believe it. Eventually, the kid folded his arms and snorted. “Figures. What year is it?”

Jason told him, and his past-self began to laugh. “Four years? No, there’s no way in _hell,”_ the kid spat. “There’s no way in hell I would _ever_ become someone like  _you_ four years from now.”

All of Jason’s dark humor disappeared in one fell swoop, and he suddenly felt exhausted. He turned away, unable to look the person he used to be in the eye. “I used to think so, too, kid,” he admitted softly.

Mini-Jason seemed to recognize something in his voice. He cocked his head, defenses lowering. “What happened to y— _Holy fucking shit_ , _what...?_ ”

Jason spun back to his past-self and stared incredulously as Robin’s form fizzled and flickered, the very edges of his body fuzzy to the eye. “Looks like they’re trying to pull you back, mini-me,” Jason said tonelessly.

“Not yet,” the younger Jason hissed between his teeth, flexing his fingers and turning his hand over again and again, spellbound by the staticky effect. “I need...” His voice faded out, like a bad radio signal. “...know what happened...”

It wasn’t until Jason was faced with the prospect of seeing his past-self disappear that he began to panic. The opportunity to _change_ something, to alter his fate, was right there, now slipping like sand through his fingers.

He could prevent it all from happening.

Jason reached out for Robin. His fingers caught momentarily and then slipped right through Robin’s body, as though he were a ghost.

“Listen to me,” Jason said, hardly caring that his voice was edged with an embarrassing amount of desperation. “You’re going to discover something,” he explained quickly. “You might already have. About Mom.”

Robin’s expression sharpened, and Jason praised all that was holy the kid could still hear him.

“You’re going to want to investigate. It is going to be impossible not to. But don’t trust her. Do you hear me? Do _not_ trust her.”

Robin frowned. “What do you...?”

“No,” Jason snarled, “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t trust her with _anything_. Let the others know. It doesn’t seem like it, but they...” Jason swallowed. “They’ll understand. _Do not trust her._ I know they suck sometimes, but trust _them_ , okay?”

The other Jason looked terrified, the words hitting him in all the right places. His mouth moved, forming questions Jason could barely hear. His body was flickering like candlelight now, looking less and less substantial with every passing second.

“If you have to go, don’t go alone, okay?!” Jason was shouting now. He didn’t care. There were only eight dead criminals there to bear witness. “Don’t go in half-cocked!” And realizing he was quoting Bruce, he felt the need to add, “Listen for _once,_ you little shit!”

And with an odd little pop and ripple, mini-Jason disappeared from view.

Jason was left staring at the spot where his past-self last stood, chest heaving and body quaking. His stomach rebelled against him, and he doubled over, gasping as he retched.

It took several interminable minutes for Jason to get ahold of himself. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and hauled himself upright. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Taking a deep breath and telling himself to get his shit together, he picked up his helmet and turned to his bag of heads. For a moment, he almost felt sick again.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There was nothing more he could do.

Nothing but move on according to plan. His resolve was still there. He’d done what he could to warn his past-self, but it was too late for _him_. It was far too late. Maybe, in some other universe where Jason Todd had never died at the hands of the clown, he was happy, healthy, and _thriving._ Maybe he’d outgrown Robin, like Dick had, and chosen a new bird name for himself. Maybe he’d gone to college, studied Literature with a minor in History. Maybe Bruce had cared enough to...

No. Those maybes weren’t worth thinking about. Those belonged in another universe, in another place and time. That wasn’t his life. It never could be.

Jason picked up his duffle bag and cursed when he saw the time.

Well, better fashionably late than never. He still had a group of Black Mask’s minions to go troll.

 

**~Then~**

“Robin!”

Jason blinked, and before he could reorient himself, a large black form swooped in on him, gathering him in his arms. For a moment, Jason pressed himself against Batman’s chest, reveling in the feel of his guardian’s gauntleted hands carefully checking him over, prodding for injuries.

What a fucking _trip_. Jason grimaced, the other Jason’s warnings ringing in his ears. He hadn’t been able to hear it all very well, but he’d heard enough to fill in a lot of the blanks.

God. He still couldn’t believe that was...that was _him._ He shuddered. He’d been too late to stop his other self from beheading that drug dealer. Those gurgling screams and horrible hacking noises would stay with him forever.

Jesus, the sight of his _face_ , his own face staring right back at him...

“Robin,” Batman murmured, crouching low. “You’re trembling.”

“No shit,” Jason snapped, squeezing his eyes shut. “That was awful, B.”

Batman’s lips turned downward. “You should not be going in half-cocked, Robin,” he lectured.

Normally, the admonishment would incite a serious argument between the two, one that was only becoming more and more common over the last few months. Today, Jason could only laugh humorlessly, his disturbed, tumultuous emotions hardly leaving much room for anger. “That’s what he said too,” Jason said. Batman looked like he wanted to ask, but Jason nipped that in the bud fast, steamrolling right over B. “I suppose that’s what I get, for messing around with some time-manipulating maniac without backup, right?”

Batman considered him for a moment, and before he could bark his typical demand to report, Jason asked, “Did you get her?”

“Yes,” Batman grunted, almost reluctant. He was clearly holding himself back right now, trying not to get into a screaming match right then and there. “I called in Flash to take her in to Belle Reve. Zatanna will be there in the morning to talk with her, too, before any other action is taken against her.”

“Good,” Jason breathed. “She wasn’t making a lot of sense. I don’t think she meant to do it.”

Though now that he thought about it, some of it _was_ starting to make sense. “ _Turn, turn back time,”_ she’d chanted again and again. “ _Stop this crime, swallowed lime! Spin the dime, free of grime, swallowed lime, swallowed lime._ ”

(Later, Dick would laugh his ass off, insisting that the fledgling sorceress had nailed Jason’s sour personality to a T. Jason, in response, would throw a video game controller at this head).

“Hnn,” Batman grunted. “You are lucky her magic was weak, Robin. Her powers could have easily trapped you in time.”

Jason released a hysterical laugh. He couldn’t stop himself. “Lucky?” he snarked. “Me?”

Batman gave him a severe look, reading between the lines. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Jason looked up at the emotionless cowl and stepped away, scowling. If B was going to make a _demand_ of it, like hell he was going to tell him a damn...

 _Trust them_ , the other Jason had begged.

Taking a breath to steady his temper, Jason reassessed Batman’s tone. It wasn’t a demand, he decided, not so much as it was a request. An opportunity.

Other Jason was right: he had not intended to tell _anyone_ about his discovery. Alfred had enough on his plate, Dick was off-world and unlikely to help him anyway, and Bruce was emotionally unavailable, their continuous fights putting more and more distance between them.

None of them would _understand._

 _It doesn’t seem like it, but they’ll understand_ , Other Jason had insisted.

He still didn’t want to tell them a damn thing. Whatever was up with his mom, about her not being his birth mother—that was _his_ business. He could handle it himself. He didn’t need—

 _Don’t trust her with anything_ , future-Jason had said. He’d said ‘her,’ like _she_ was a monster, someone who deserved the beheading he’d dealt that poor sap in the warehouse.

God, forget his mom. How could he even _mention_ future-Jason? The very thought made him sick. How could the others ever look at him again, knowing he was capable of becoming someone like that?

“Robin?” Batman prompted, tone curt.

Jason took a steadying breath, focusing on the sound of B’s voice.

Worried. Uncertain. Out-of-his-depth. Curtness was how B showed he cared. Dick had told him that, right at the beginning.

Jason pursed his lips. The moment the timestream started to sort itself, the other Jason had _changed,_ like a flip of a light-switch. His sardonic grin had disappeared, eyes wide and fear lacing his every word. There was no trace of lies or deception, only a desperation Jason recognized from his time on the streets. A drive to survive, no matter the cost. His future-self spoke like his very life depended on it, and in a way, it _had_. Even still, the man had half a mind to give him just enough information and clues for Jason to deduce that whatever went wrong in the future...it started right here. Right now.

Right in this time.

_I know they suck sometimes, but trust them, okay?_

“Yeah,” Jason said, and despite himself, his voice shook. “We do.”

Batman placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. “To the Batcave?” he asked seriously.

It was an old, old in-joke, back from his first night as Robin. It had been awhile since they'd used it, and Jason couldn’t help but grin, the familiarity of it settling over him like a comfort blanket.

 _I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m not going to become you_ , _you sad, pathetic motherfucker,_ Jason thought again. _Thanks to you._

“To the Batcave,” he agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no self control. Enjoy this mess of fluff and feels, and apologies, in advance, for shitty editing. 
> 
> Also! Shout out to Sir Elton John, whose "I'm Still Standing," powered me through a good chunk of this. And inspired a bit of it, too, clearly. ;)

**~Then~**

Jason’s eyes burned.

It was three in the morning, and he was alone, his cheeks sticky with old tear tracks, his pillow still damp, head pounding with pressure from congestion. Stiffly, he tried to unravel himself from the ball he’d confined himself to—just to get up, splash his face with water or something—but his stomach rioted, threatening to upend, so he merely curled tighter, burrowing as far into his comforter as he could.

 _How_? The question replayed on repeat in his head, cyclical and ruthless, and the moment he tried to play with a scenario to answer that very question, his mind shut down _,_ the impossibility of what he’d seen catching up with him. Every cell in his brain rejected and denied and screamed _no, never, not me._

But every time Jason tried to close his eyes, _he_ was there, his red helmet glinting in the low light, those cold lenses mercilessly unblinking as he raised his arm and swung, screams gurgling, and then abruptly dying, from the mutilated throat of his victim.

And Jesus Christ, those _eyes_ , haunted and crazed and glinting with something inhuman, something Jason couldn’t recognize. The desperation in his voice, the panic in his body language, his warnings _._

The longer Jason thought about it, the more and more fucked up it became.

(And the more and more he worried that maybe...maybe it was inevitable).

He wanted to sleep. God, did he want to. He wanted to wake up in the morning with his trip to the future nothing more than a glimmer of a nightmare. He wanted to regain some of that cocky surety he always had in the Robin uniform, something that seemed absolutely impossible to replicate now, in the privacy of his dark bedroom.

A fresh slew of tears threatened to overflow, but Jason forced them back, drawing in a ragged, steadying breath.

 _They can’t be right about me,_ he tried to convince himself _. They can’t be._

(He’d only waited his whole life for a chance to prove them all wrong. Shows what good that chance did for him).

He and Bruce had meant to talk about it. He even thought Bruce would insist _,_ but in a rare show of emotional competence, Bruce had noticed him stumbling through the Cave, bleary-eyed, traumatized, exhausted, and had instead gently sent him off to bed, with a reminder that he was available if he wanted to talk now...on top of a genuine promise they _would_ talk later, after some well-deserved rest.

Three hours ago, Jason had been grateful.

But that had been three hours ago, and in this darkness? In the dead silence of the Manor?

Well, that was clearly a different fucking story. Fucking _hell_.

It was too much for Jason to consider getting out of bed again, not now. And he’d rather die alone in this bed, sick and horrified with himself, than wake Bruce or Alfred right now. He wasn’t a fucking child _._

(But, maybe...)

 _There’s going to be times,_ someone once told him, _when you’re going to want to talk to someone_.

It had to be closer to four in the morning now. The thought nearly made Jason sob again. He just wanted to _sleep_.

_I’ve been where you’re at._

(Pride be damned. He couldn’t _take this_ any longer).

 _I’m a good listener_ , he’d promised (1).

Jason found himself extracting an arm from his nest, fingers grasping at the cell phone he’d left charging next to his pillow. The sudden light from the screen sent a surge of pain ricocheting behind his brow, and he squinted against the brightness. He felt detached, distant, like an outsider looking in, as he pulled up a contact he’d sworn he’d never need...and pressed the call button.

Jason closed his eyes and listened to the ring, his heart racing and gut roiling.

It rang endlessly, and Jason sighed bitterly, his thumb hovering over the red end call button. Who was he kidding, anyway? Did he honestly expect—?

“...Hello?” came a confused voice at the other end of the line.

Oh, shit. Abort, abort, abort. Jason’s heart nearly stopped dead in its tracks, and he had to focus on breathing.

He was silent for too long. “...Jason?” asked Dick Grayson, a weird note in his tone.      

Shit, fuck this. Maybe he _would_ have rather waited for sunrise. Jason screwed his eyes shut.

“Jason?” Dick called again, and this time, there was something non-negotiable and hard in his voice. 

“Yeah,” he croaked finally. "Yeah, sorry, it's me." Someone called, incessantly, for Nightwing over the line, and Jason suddenly felt no more significant than a speck of dirt.

(This was a horrible idea).

“You know what?” he said abruptly. “You’re probably busy with your team, aren’t you? I’ll just—”

"Jason,” Dick interrupted. “Hey, it’s fine.” There was a voice in the background—angry, this time—and Dick answered, voice warbling through the line, nearly indistinct. Jason held his breath. There was some shuffling and then the background noise faded to nothing. “I told you you could call me anytime.”

“But—”

“They can deal without me for awhile,” he said casually.

“It’s late,” Jason denied. “Maybe I should—”

Again, Dick bulldozed right over him. “What’s been happening, Little Wing?”     

A little flare of annoyance accompanied the nickname, along with all the resentment Jason harbored for perfect, precious Dick Grayson—the favorite, the one who could do no wrong. In what world did he think he could just talk to _Dick Grayson_? Dick Grayson never had to worry about becoming a mass-murdering, insane asshole in his future. Dick Grayson was all that was good in the world, everything Jason wasn’t (and could never be, despite his best attempts to prove otherwise). Dick Grayson would never understand what he was feeling right now. Dick Grayson never had to come to the self-realization he was a _rotten_ person, straight to his core. 

_Fuck Dick Grayson._

He should hang up. Right now. Pretend it never happened. He’d deal, same as he always did. He didn’t need Dick-fucking-Grayson. He never had.

“I admit I’m surprised you called,” Dick prompted suddenly. “I know I said you could, but I guess I never expected you to take me up on it.”

“You have no concept of subtlety, Dickface,” Jason accused.

“There he is.” There was a smile in Dick’s voice. “You sounded off earlier. Like, really off. Is everything okay?”

“I guess,” Jason said, a hysterical bite in his voice. “What’s your definition of okay?”

Dick hesitated. “No better or worse than yours is,” he said finally. “Lay it on me.”

He said it like it was _easy_. But, of course, it probably was easy for someone like _him_.

“Hey, you know you can talk to me, right?” Dick asked, unable to handle Jason’s awkward silence. “Whatever happened? I’ve got your back. Especially if Bruce is involved.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Jason didn’t find it funny. “Do you, though?” he snapped. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“And why’s that?”

Belatedly, he realized he’d fallen into a Trap, and fuck it, there was no getting out of it now. “Some weird sorceress sent me on a joy ride to the future, okay?” Jason grumbled. “It wasn’t nice, and it fucked me up. The end.”

“...I doubt that’s the end,” Dick said, suddenly sounding far more serious.

“No.” His temper fizzled to nothing, exhaustion settling back into his bones. He rubbed at his dry eyes. “No, you’re right.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Dick asked hesitantly. “About what you saw?”

“Yeah, I guess. I wasn’t there long or anything, but it...” Jason licked his lips. “Fuck, it was me. I found _me,_ and we fought, and he...he was so _messed up_ , Dick. I—”

“Hey, Jay? Jay, listen to me.”

It was then that Jason realized he was hyperventilating, and he quieted, waiting in silence.

“You know about the multiverse, right? Are you sure this wasn’t—”

“I’m absolutely fucking sure. This...this wasn’t another universe, Dick. He said things. He _knew_ about...”

“About?”

Jason grit his teeth. _Trust them_ , Other Jason had suggested. _Begged_.

So, throwing all caution to the wind, Jason did. The whole story was purged from him like the vomit he’d been holding back all night. He told Dick about his mom, about what he’d discovered about who she was...and who she _wasn’t_ , about his half-formed plans to go looking for answers, about how Other Jason had warned him, specifically, against making these very plans. He even told Dick that Other Jason rattled him to the core, that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—become him, he didn’t even know _how it happened, how could it? Why did it?_

Dick was a captive audience. He didn’t interrupt once, and when Jason was done, the first thing he said was: “I’m coming home.”

“What?” Jason said, in complete surprise. “No, fuck that. You have shit to do!”

“And, as you so aptly put it, it’s just shit. _You’re_ what’s important right now.”

Numb to the core, stunned to all hell, Jason responded with a meager, “Okay.”

“And you know what you’re going to do in the meantime?” Dick said.

“What? Talk to Bruce?” Jason scowled. “I know, I know.”

“Well, I’m not going to discourage _that,”_ Dick said. “Though I know I’m the last person to suggest it. But hey, you never know. Bruce may surprise us both.” Jason huffed a bit of a dark laugh. “That’s not what I was going to say, anyway. I was going to say: you’re going to hold off on searching for your bio mom, and you’re going to talk to that sorceress again.”

“What do you expect me to get out of her? She was a complete whack-job, Dick,” Jason said.

“Even still. Messing with time has consequences. Any of the speedsters will tell you that, so the fact that you traveled there and back, without the universe as we know it unraveling? And without any weird complications or side effects? This happened for a _reason_.”

Jason allowed that to sink in for a moment before snickering incredulously. “You really _are_ this optimistic, aren’t you?” he asked. He’d heard stories—from Gordon, from Clark, from others. He always thought they were over-exaggerating. Whenever _he’d_ met up with Dick Grayson, he’d always been...not this. “It’s almost disgusting.”

“What, you’d rather think you’re doomed to a life of beheading low-life drug dealers?” Dick scoffed. “Screw that. Better to think positively. This _was_ a gift, and we’re gonna change things, Jaybird. And it all starts with that sorceress.”

 _No,_ Jason thought, as he hung up and rolled over. _It starts, and ends, with my mother_.

~...~

Bruce didn’t even question Jason when, after rolling out of bed at nearly noon, he sat at the breakfast table and asked to go see the sorceress. Bruce just nodded, as though he’d been thinking the same, and said, “Once she is well enough for visitors, we will.”

And that had been that. Jason, a mess of nerves the remainder of the day, avoided both Alfred and Bruce up until dinner, where he played with his food more than ate it.

Every minute he sat around doing nothing was agony. He almost went back on his word to Dick—the itch to begin delving deeper into investigating his three potential bio moms was driving him crazy—but he resisted. The reminder of Red Hood and his dark smirk, his tortured eyes, was enough to hold him at bay.

That night, before patrol, Bruce pulled him aside and said, “You spoke with Dick last night.”

Jason, who’d been about to affix his mask, gaped. “What?” he demanded, too surprised to deny it. “How in the world could you have known that?”

“Because it’s what I would have done,” Bruce said simply. He pulled on his gauntlets, taking more care than usual as he did. "And if not Dick, then Clark."

Jason narrowed his eyes. What in the hell? “I highly doubt that,” he accused, sensing some real strong _B.S._ in Bruce’s admission.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, unruffled by Jason’s low blow. “I may not be the best role model,” he said, “but it’s not a weakness to ask for help. Especially after what you’ve seen.”

Freezing in place, Jason realized exactly what Bruce was getting at, and he sighed. “Of course,” he muttered darkly. “Of _course_ you saw it all.”

The recording devices were a relatively new gadget of Bruce’s. The cameras attached to their masks were meant to help them collect evidence and clues for future use, and all footage was streamed, and stored, directly on the Batcomputer.

It had been second nature for Jason to click it on. The moment he’d seen the Red Hood, of _course_ he clicked it on. He'd thought he was about to go up against a new baddie.

He’d completely forgotten about it. What a rookie mistake.

“You did well,” Bruce said. “In an unfamiliar place, and facing an unknown...you did exactly as I taught you.”

Jason turned his face away, using every last ounce of self-restraint he had not to lash out at Bruce. Humiliation and shame coiled in his gut, and his face—God, it was on fire.

Old fear and insecurity rose like bile. Bruce was going to kick him out, surely. Better to exorcize the demon before it emerged, right? Gotta cut the diseased tissue from the healthy, to keep it from necrotizing further, and all that. No hard feelings, it was just what Jason had expected, back when Bruce first took him in. _He_ was the one who’d allowed himself to get too comfortable, to actually begin to believethat maybe—  

Bruce rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and he flinched. Bruce, to his credit, didn’t drop his hand. Instead, he moved it, up to his head, where he gave his hair a light ruffle. “Jay,” he murmured.

His tone was gentle, understanding, and Jason felt the tension in his shoulders draining away. Without looking up at Bruce, he asked, “You really want to help someone like me?”

Finally removing his hand, Bruce lowered himself into a crouch and took Jason by the shoulders. He was reminded, suddenly, of the night he met Batman, the night he had tried to take the tires off the Batmobile. Bruce had done something like this that night, too, when he’d offered Jason a meal. And a place to stay.

Sharp blue eyes danced over him, and Bruce said, “You’re my _son._ Nothing will change that.”

This, coming from the man who had threatened to take Robin away from him if he didn’t shape up not even a week ago. Jason couldn’t help but snort, a lingering sense of insecurity making it necessary for him to ask, “Even if I do become _him_ someday?”

“Nothing will change that,” Bruce repeated sternly.

Not "you wouldn’t." Not "you couldn’t." A promise, instead. A promise to be there, no matter what.

 “Between you, me, and Dick,” Bruce continued, “we’re going to figure this out.”

And damn him _and_ Dick. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Jason felt like, maybe, it was okay to hope. 

(In his defense, one did not merely get a promise from Bruce Wayne and expect to  _fail)_.

The bravado he’d felt last night returned to him in a gurgling rush, determination sparking and igniting deep in his chest.

“There’s more,” Jason said, and he felt more like himself than he had in ages.

“About your mother?” Bruce guessed.

When Jason nodded, Bruce contemplated him for a moment and then pulled his gloves back off. “Get comfortable. We’ve got some research to do.”

~...~

Dick showed up twenty-seven hours later, seriously jet-lagged but still somehow willing to put on a toothy grin, and for not only him and Alfred, but for _Bruce,_ too.

And everything was weird. Weird, but...good.

Jason was not ashamed to admit that watching Dick and Bruce work together—without fists and verbal barbs flying—was probably the most badass thing he’d ever witnessed. He wasn’t even ashamed to admit that the _three of them_ working together was more fun and stimulating than it had any right to be.

It was easy to forget, why they were together, why they were getting along. Jason didn’t want to think about the whys, anyway. They had a case. That was it.

And they went H.A.M. on it.

Within a day, they had wheedled Jason’s three potential women-of-interest down to a single woman. Sheila Haywood.

Within another day, they had discovered why she left Gotham (botched illegal abortions, plural), why she was hiding out in Ethiopia (several of the girls had _died_ ), and that she was not only embezzling money (from _medical funds_ meant to _help people_ , no less), but that, somehow, she also had ties to _the Joker_.

The moment they discovered Joker’s involvement, Jason felt as though ghosts were fucking _waltzing_ over his grave. An unnerving sense of dread settled over him, chills slithering up and down his spine.

He felt sick again. Sicker than he had the night he met his future self.

“Don’t trust her,” Jason murmured as he backed away from the Batcomputer, and both Dick and Bruce to turned to him immediately. “That’s what _he_ said. Don’t trust her with _anything_. Jesus fucking Christ.”

This was it. This was what altered his whole fate. Other Jason _had_ trusted her, and it had sent him spiraling.

It was all too easy, to imagine what had happened now. He somehow knew it, deep in his bones, even if all the pieces weren’t quite there.

Before either Dick or Bruce could think to reach out to him, he asked, “How is our sorceress doing?” It was suddenly imperative he speak to her, and it was an urge so powerful he felt like his very skin was crawling.

“Still partially mute and dissociative, last I heard from Zatanna,” Bruce said. “She and her psychiatrist have been working with her every day.”

Jason nodded. “Okay.” Other Jason, it would seem, would have to wait. The question that had been bothering him for three nights in a row now would have to remain unanswered.

They still had work to do.

“What now?” he asked.

~...~

Robin watched as thick flames and black smoke spewed from the warehouse. His body ached, bruises from the Joker’s crowbar littering his back and sides, limbs weak with lingering stress.

Nightwing was at his side, _pulling_ him to his side, actually, and didn’t seem like he was going to let go anytime soon. His face was smeared with soot, grim and stony as he stared out over the desert. Robin could feel a fine tremor running through his fingers that only intensified the longer they stood together. A heavy cloud of dust raced toward them.

Batman was on his way.

“I was nearly too late,” Nightwing said, breaking their silence.

“But you weren’t,” Robin said, feeling a little dead inside.

Nightwing responded by hugging him closer, releasing a shaky breath. “I can’t help but think...if you hadn’t called me that night...”

If Jason hadn't called, he would have died in that warehouse. It didn’t scare him, not like it probably should have. He’d used up all his fear on Red Hood over the last few days.

But now? The Joker was dead, and the worst of it, Jason knew, was _over_.

Batman kicked up even more sand as he swung his vehicle to a stop in front of them. He didn’t bother propping it up on its stand, instead leaping off the bike and swooping upon them immediately.

He’d thrown back his cowl, and he gathered both of them up, muttering _thank God_ and running careful hands over them, assessing and prodding for injuries.

Eventually tired of the old man’s fussing, Jason swatted his hands away. “C’mon, B, chill out. We’re fine.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Not badly, thanks to ‘Wing,” Jason said.

“I can’t believe I fell for it,” Bruce said. “Joker knew exactly how to split us up.”

“Let’s not think about that,” Dick said. "All that matters is that we did it. It's over."

“Not yet,” Jason said. “Not entirely. I think...I have a feeling that sorceress will be able to talk to us now.”

~...~

Her milky black eyes, spinning with galaxies upon galaxies, lit up the moment Robin entered the room. She smiled, painfully broad, and Zatanna, who’d spent the most time with her, was amazed.

“I can’t believe it,” she muttered to Bruce. “I’ve never seen anything like this. She’s keyed to him, somehow. Imprinted, almost.”

Jason didn't care to listen to Zatanna and Bruce gossip about the sorceress. He sat across from her, folding himself into a cross-legged position on the floor. The young woman, already on the floor, scooted forward so that she was up against the bars of her cell.

“Lime, lime, spun the dime, now free, free of grime. Gone, that foul— _most_ foul—crime,” she murmured, awe in her smoky voice. She hummed, and her unblinking eyes crinkled at the edges with the force of her grin. “It is done!”

“Is it?” Jason asked. When the sorceress didn’t answer, Jason tried again. “Why did you do this for me? Why did you stop it all from happening? Why me?”

“Why?” was the sorceress’s response, genuinely confused. She stared past him. Or perhaps through him. “Well, whyever not? But, then again, I suppose it _was_ all a big knot, wasn’t it? And I _do_ so detest knots.” She beamed at him. “Angles upon angles, we certainly wrangled those tangles, didn’t we? And it was not for naught, for a knot it is not?”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Jason said slowly. “I’d like to think it’s not a knot anymore. Thank you. For that. I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t done what you did.”

The sorceress laughed. “Right, the Sight. Sometimes a blight, and other times star-bright. A danger to rewrite, but worth it, if for delight and not for spite.” The sorceress suddenly fixated on him, and she hummed again, almost giddily. “You worry about _him_. The Other?”

Another ghost strode across Jason’s grave. It had been happening a lot lately. “Of course I do.”

She cocked her head at him, her humor fading, smile slackening. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but over his shoulder. At Batman and Nightwing _,_ who tagged along for the hell of it, he supposed. “You don’t need to,” she said firmly.

“How can you know that?” Jason asked. When the sorceress giggled again, her mood turning a one-eighty, Jason leaned forward. “Please, I need to know.”

 “Hood misunderstood,” she said. “A boom, green pits of doom, another boy in costume, a Joker free of his own tomb. Hood _assumed_.” The sorceress sounded like she was _chiding_ him, and Jason spluttered. “He fell,” she continued. “And the others as well. But Robin?” Jason withheld a scathing comment and watched, as somehow, she smiled. “Hood  _stood,_ and now...now he does _good_.”

“Really?” Jason breathed, a deep sense of relief overpowering him.

“But perhaps...Hm, yes, perhaps. Change, exchange, rearrange. _They_ may disagree, but what's life without a little glee? Shall we see?”

A jolt of panic seized him. “Wait, what?” 

The sorceress’s smile grew again. She spread her fingers and reached for him. “Show, bestow, for all that woe? It’s time to forgo!”

Jason barely heard Batman shouting his name before he felt a tug. There was a _snap,_ a history of loud images and bright noises, all tinged with Lazarus green, settling into his mind, and suddenly...

He was somewhen else.

**~Now~**

This had to be some sort of sick _joke_.

It had to be.

Bruce clicked play again and watched as the new player on the field flit in and out of the camera’s view, his voice overlapping and harmonizing with the other voice—the owner of the camera’s voice.

Both voices haunted him. He knew them both just as well as he knew Dick’s. Alfred’s. His own.

Bruce paused on the image of Red Hood sans mask, and, not for the first time, saw his son—dear _God_ his _son, all grown up_ —staring back at him, eyes wide with something like surprise.

And dark, too. With resentment. Then with terror. Then with a horrifying desperation Bruce had only ever seen out of those who knew their lives were forfeit.

It had to be a joke, you see, because it was impossible. Jason was dead. There was no coming back from that.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Because for all intents and purposes, the second half of the footage had revealed that his dead son, as he should have been had he lived, was fighting _his son_ , as he had been _before he died_.

And though Bruce had seen a number of miraculous and unexplainable things, what he was witnessing now was the most insane thing he’d ever had to deal with.

It was simply impossible.

(It _should_ have been impossible).

He watched the footage one more time. It had appeared on his computer an hour ago, pinging him on an obsolete program he thought he’d long since removed and updated.

There were only a few people whose mask cams had ever fed into that particular program.

By the time Bruce watched static erupt on the screen for perhaps the hundredth time, he had decided what he needed to do.

Clark Kent, Oliver Queen, Talia al Ghul...maybe even Doctor Fate or Zatanna. He had some questions for them.

But first? First, he had to call Dick.

~...~

Hood didn’t know how it had come to this.

All his plans were going up in literal flames. Somehow, Bruce had found him far earlier than he’d ever intended and had pursued him with all the determination of a bat out of hell. Pun unintended.

Whatever the hell happened to set the Bat on his tail, he couldn’t dwell on it. He could screw Black Mask over another time. It was the Joker he needed now.

 _He needed to know_.

It had been laughably easy to get him. And even easier to stage the scene.

All he had to do now was wait, and if he beat the shit out of the Joker while he waited? Well, who could blame him?

He had been so ready for the Bat to come bursting in through the window that he did not expect anyone else. Though, to be fair, _this_ visitor didn’t do much by way of smashing windows or kicking down doors: he just appeared out of fucking nowhere.

Because of fucking course he did.

“Damn,” came his own mildly impressed voice from behind him.

Heart jumping up through his throat, Jason spun, crowbar still raised, and the cowering bit of filth behind him started to shriek with manic laughter.

His mini-me stood leaning up against the wall, arms folded, one leg bent and foot propped against the wall. If he was unnerved by the Joker's hysterics, he didn't show it.

“What the actual fuck,” Jason stated. The Joker let out another pealing reel of giggles, and he said something. About a little bird. Jason  _had_ to deal with it. One good, solid smack, and the piece of shit was unconscious. Furious, he whipped back around and saw mini-Jason staring down at the clown, lips twisted in utter disgust.

“He deserves it,” mini-Jason said. “After everything.”

Something like ice ran down Jason’s spine. He narrowed his eyes, watching the kid warily. There was a new self-assuredness to him, something beyond the hot-air-and-cocky-bluster he saw the last time they met.

Had that only been a week ago?  

“What the hell are you doing back here?” Jason asked. "You shouldn't be here."

Mini-Jason stared at him and then smirked. _Knowingly_. “Our fairy-sorceress-godmother granted me a wish.”

Jason huffed, downright annoyed. Batman could be here any _second,_ and not only did he have the ghost of his past there to pester him with cryptic remarks, but he'd been forced to put the Joker to bed. Joker needed to be _awake for this,_ dammit.

The kid seemed to read his mind, and he frowned. “I know how this is going to end.”

“Well, whoo-fucking-hoo for you,” Jason growled. He grasped the Joker by his collar and heaved him upright. Some paranoid part of him encouraged him to test the villain’s bonds, just in case. 

“Come on,” past-Jason said. “I’m you. And I know _you_ know exactly how this is going to end, too. Bruce isn’t going to do it, so why are you torturing yourself?”

The words struck him like one of Willis Todd’s bitch slaps across the face. He ignored the sting. He _had_ to.

(It didn’t matter that it was the truth).

“Kid, I don’t have time to deal with your shit as well as my own. Get lost. Go back to wherever you came from and enjoy what time you have left.”

“Well, see,” the kid said. “I have a lot of that now. Because of you.”

Jason snapped his attention back to the kid. _After everything,_ he had said, Jason remembered. _After everything_.

He flung his helmet off. “What?” he gasped, a little kindling of hope flaring deep in his chest.

Mini-Jason’s sharp smile softened. “We prevented it all from happening,” he said. “Ethiopia, Sheila, the explosion. All of it.”

”All of it?” Jason repeated.

”Well, actually. I lied. The explosion did happen. But I wasn't in it. Joker was.”

Jason's entire body broke out into a cold sweat, a tumultuous wave of emotion crashing down upon him. The intensity of it drowned the buzzing in his ears and erased the green tinge in his vision, and after the lightning had struck, he was left with something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Wonder, maybe. Gratitude, perhaps. Forgiveness? Happiness? He didn’t fucking know...Not yet, probably.

But someday.

(He’d forgotten what it’d felt like, to save someone like that. It’d been awhile, hadn’t it?)

Mini-Jason kept talking. “I saw what happened to you. Our fairy-sorceress-godmother showed me everything. About the new kid, and Talia, and...the...well.” He cleared his throat as Jason flinched. “I get it now, and I’m sorry. I really am. You didn’t deserve it, you realize that, right?”

“Of course I fucking didn’t,” Jason snapped. And again, almost to himself, he muttered, “No one deserves that shit. Except maybe this trash behind me.”

“Won’t deny that. But in any case,” Mini-Jason said, “I needed to make sure you were okay, too, you know?”

“How did you do it?” Jason blurted, because he _had to know_. It was too late for him, of course, but—

“I followed your advice. And called Dick,” his mini-me said, and his smile became predatory.

That’s when Jason realized his tiny demon-self had a cell phone in hand. And it was already dialing out.

_He was going to ruin everything._

“You little—" Jason cursed, and he lunged forward.

Robin danced out of the way with a broad smile. “It’s your fault you fucked me up so bad I felt like I had no choice _but_ to call him, Other Guy. Maybe you ought to practice what you preach.”

“Like _hell_ ,” Jason snarled, swiping out with a wide swing of his arm to try to get the kid in a chokehold.

Slippery little eel managed to evade him, and he very meticulously tapped the speaker button. “You told _me_ to trust them,” his asshole past-self reminded him. “Why won’t _you_?”

At that moment, naturally, Dick’s voice came out of the phone. A single, incredulous word. “... _Jason_?”

Jason froze dead in his tracks.

“Hey, Dickwad,” mini-Jason said cheerily. “Don’t freak out, but by this time, Bruce has probably shown you a weird mask cam video. Of two mes going toe-to-toe? If he hasn’t, then he’s a liar in my time, and this probably won’t make any sense to you, but long-story-short: I can’t stay long because time travel was involved, and I’ve got someone here who might want to say hello! Spoiler alert: it’s an angsty version of me who kinda needs some TLC. He’s a little messed up right now, but he’ll get better. I know he will.”

“Shut the fuck _up_!” Jason hissed, almost taking a menacing step forward. “I can’t fucking _believe_ you, you little fucking—”

“Jason?” Dick asked. “Is that really you?”

The older man sounded torn up, his tone strangled. But...that made no sense. Dick Grayson never cared about him. Never would.

Jason’s demented past-self waggled the phone at him, insistent, and he glowered at the kid, gripping his crowbar with white-knuckled fingers. _Go on,_ mini-Jason mouthed at him. _Do it._

Jason didn’t know if the mini-me was daring him to swing the crowbar or speak to Dick. Neither were good options. Though to be honest...

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Dick suddenly said, preventing Jason from making any rash decisions. And then he started _laughing_ , and maybe crying, too. Jason couldn’t tell, and he was...unsure how to handle it. “You fucking _asshole_.”

“Fuck off, Dickface,” he said, mostly on reflex, and snarled as the kid sent him a brilliant smile.

“Oh my God,” Dick breathed. “So it _is_ true. I thought Bruce had gone off the deep end, but you’re...you’re really alive! I can’t believe it!”

He sounded so relieved. So deliriously  _happy_. Jason didn’t _understand_. “What’s your deal?” he demanded. “You think that, what, because my past-self is a meddling little shit-stain and because he gave you a call, we’re all buddy-buddy? I’ve done shit, Grayson! Stuff no one can come back from! I died! I came back! You can’t just—”

“What?” Dick demanded. “I can’t just be happy you’re alive? You don’t have any say in that! I _am_ happy. What does the rest matter?”

“You never cared before!” Jason snarled.

“You’re wrong, but go off, I guess,” Dick said, and holy _shit_ the guy was actually smiling now? _What?_ “I’m on my way back to Gotham. You better be there when I get back or so help me, Jason, I will _hunt you down_.”

The call disconnected, and Jason stared at the phone in mute silence, chest heaving. The mini-me looked a little embarrassed on his behalf, and serve him right, honestly.

“What the fuck?” he breathed. "What the fuck just happened?"

“He dropped everything for me, too,” mini-Jason informed. “But you _knew_ he would, didn’t you? Somewhere in that demented head of yours?”

Jason shook his head. That couldn’t be right. They’d forgotten him. Replaced him. They didn’t—

“Jason.”

Both Jasons jumped and twirled to find Batman standing in the doorway. The Bat’s eyes trailed to the mini-Jason, but only for a moment.

From that point, Batman fixated on _him_ , the time-traveling pest completely forgotten.

And fuck it all, Jason was too tired, too strung out with fury and confusion and whatever-the-fuck-it-was Dick just did to him, to deal with this. He tried to draw himself up, to pull himself together. If he could just _move_ , he could show B he wasn’t kidding around...that he _meant_ to hurt those dealers, to hurt him and the Drake kid, and that, one way or another, Joker was _dying here tonight_ , and then he could get on with his life.

“Your move, old man,” Robin hissed under his breath, breaking the silence.

Before Jason could process what the kid meant, the Bat had already swooped in, straight toward him. He tensed, expecting an attack, but strong arms wrapped around him, and he was suddenly being crushed into Bruce’s chest plate.

“You’ve grown,” Bruce—not Batman—said. “You’ve _grown_.”

“I...” Jason swallowed, and goddammit, what was _happening_? He’d killed people. He’d beat the shit out of Tim Drake. He wasn’t the same _person_ he’d been before.

And what? Bruce was _hugging him_? Like none of that _mattered_? As though the Robin he lost wasn’t standing a few meters away?

From over Bruce’s shoulder, mini-Jason smirked and gave him a salute—the Robin salute, the one Dick had invented and passed down to him—and his form began to flicker in and out. “Trust them,” the little shit mouthed slowly at him.

He watched himself disappear, back to his own time, and for the first time in months, the Pit’s whispers couldn’t touch him.

The crowbar slipped from numb fingers, clattering to the floor.

**~Then~**

“That was reckless. And stupid,” Batman growled, leading Robin out of Belle Reve by the shoulder.

“I didn't have much of a choice in the matter,” Jason argued.

Batman gave him an unimpressed look.

“Okay, fine," Jason said. "I thought she might do it again, and I _may_ have put myself in a position to encourage her to do it. But it was worth the risk! I repay my debts, B. And besides, Other Jason and future-Batman and Nightwing needed a little reminder to get their heads out of their asses. They would have been _us,_ if things had been different.”

“Can’t deny that, B,” Nightwing said lightly. “The future sounded like it needed all the help it could get.”

Batman grunted, and the three of them were silent for a moment. The rain was coming down a little more steadily now, but Jason didn’t mind. He turned his face up toward the downpour.

Once upon a time, he might not have been able to walk and revel in the rain. In another universe, he was dead. And he wouldn’t be crawling out of his grave for another six months.

What a trip.

“I’m proud of you, Robin,” Batman said suddenly.

Robin beamed. “Thanks, B.”

“But you’re still grounded.”

“Aw, Bats! Come on!”

Dick had the gall to snicker, and Jason shot him a betrayed look.

“You’re still healing,” was Bruce’s grand argument. “You could’ve been hurt.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me. He’s _me_ , after all, no matter how messed up.”

Batman sighed. “It wasn’t your future self I was worried about.”

 _Joker_. Jason shuddered. “Point,” he agreed.

“So you’ll agree to a week without Robin?” Batman asked. “Just until you can move without wincing?”

Busted. “Fine, whatever. I have another project I could work on, anyway.”

“Do you now?” Batman asked suspiciously. Nightwing, for his part, quirked a brow at him, clearly intrigued.

Jason merely grinned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**C O D A**

**~Then~**

The mansion was smaller than Wayne Manor, but despite the tragedy lurking in the Manor’s halls and deep within its remaining residents, this house was somehow sadder, emptier... _lonelier,_ than the Wayne Manor could ever hope to be.

Jason moseyed through the gate and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He looked up at the windows, wondering if the kid was looking out now, watching him. He wouldn’t be surprised, really. Considering.

He took his time up the winding path. Despite all his prepping, and all of Dick’s encouragement, he wasn’t exactly sure what to say. How do you approach a kid who’d stalked Batman and Robin for _years_? One that, in some Other Future, Jason had kicked the shit out of, just for becoming Robin after him?

(He supposed he _shouldn’t_ say any of that. The kid would think he was insane).

In any case, Jason needed to reach out somehow. Drake’s entire future was altered now, and Jason was responsible for that. He’d doomed him to a life of negligent parents and a house of empty rooms, and like hell he wasn’t going to try to make that right. The very least he could do was offer him a choice. And if not a choice, then at the very least, his friendship.

Because after what his fairy-sorceress-godmother had shown him, one thing became clear: Tim Drake was far too valuable to waste.

When he reached the front door, Jason still didn’t really know what he was going to say, but he’d always been one of those people who leapt before they looked. It worked out for him in the past, so why not now?

He rang the bell without hesitation. It gonged and echoed eerily through the halls, clanging like an old ghoul.

The kid responded only after Jason rang the bell twice more. He was a tiny thing, with blue eyes bigger than they had any right to be for a thirteen-year-old.

“Um,” Tim Drake said, blinking stupidly at him. “Hello?”

“Yo,” Jason said. “Mind if I come in? I think we have some things to talk about.”

Tim stared, and it took Jason clearing his throat pointedly to get a response. “...Sure?”

“Great!” Jason flounced in and took stock of the room. The hall was pristine, looking more like a mausoleum than a place where people actually lived.

It was even sadder inside than it was outside.

Tim was still staring, but instead of giving him a deer-in-headlights look, he was _studying_ him, his brow was furrowed, eyes flashing with deceptive intelligence.

Well, no _wonder_ he became Robin the Third, Jason thought, surveying him with equal curiosity. This was a kid after Bruce’s own heart, mind, and soul.

“Does Batman know you’re here?” Tim blurted, shocking the hell out of Jason. “He doesn’t know about my photography, does he?” The moment he asked it, he was already shaking his head. “No, he can’t, if it’s just you here. You’re not going to threaten me, are you? To stop me from going out? Because it’s not going to work, even if you _are_ Robin.”

It was Jason's turn to stare. A few heartbeats later, he began to laugh. “Holy _shit._ You know what? I’m not even going to try to lie to you. You’d see right through it, wouldn’t you?"

"...I'm sorry?" Tim asked.

Jason was already inviting himself further into the sad mansion. "I have a story for you, and you're probably not going to believe me, but fuck it, I'm going to tell you everything. Got any hot chocolate?"

There _was_ hot chocolate, and somehow, Tim Drake _did_ believe him. 

That night, another place was set at dinner. And if they didn't have the next Oracle-in-training working alongside Babs by the end of the month? Well, Jason had made worse bets.

 

**~Now~**

 

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Hood twisted from where he was perched to see Red Robin settling onto the gargoyle beside him. “Did I fucking invite you?” he asked.

Red Robin shrugged. “Didn’t know you had ownership of this building or its gargoyles.”

They stared at each other for a moment before both broke out into grins. “Welcome back,” Tim said, genuine warmth in his voice. “We’ve missed you.”

Jason removed his helmet and set it beside him, running a hand through his hair as he did. “Figures you’d be the first to say so, stalker kid. How long have you known I was back in the city?”

Tim was wholly unashamed, and of course he didn’t deign to answer the question. “I see you stuck with the Red Hood get-up,” he said instead.

Jason fidgeted. It hadn’t been an easy decision. Not in the slightest.

After his past-self had fucked him over, he’d lasted a week or so in the Manor. He’d tried to reconnect with the Family. They’d fought, they’d cried, and they’d thrown numerous fists, too. He’d tried to find redemption, an outlet, _something,_ but he’d ended up pacing the Manor like a caged wolf, suffering fits of rage for no discernible reason and picking fights with all of them, even after telling himself, over and over, that _wasn’t what he wanted._  

So he’d decided he need to clear out, to get his head back on straight. To _think_. Away from the curse of Gotham and everything— _everyone_ —there. The Pit had still been with him, then, and it had too much for a few hugs, long heart-to-heart talks, and aggressive shouting matches to fix.

He’d needed to do some soul-searching. He’d needed to find himself again. His past-self had inspired him to do that, and the others...they hadn’t been too pleased, or willing to trust him without supervision, but they’d supported his decision, in the end.

Tim, especially. And it wasn’t even in a malicious get-out-of-the-Family-you’re-mentally-ill-and-we-don’t-want-to-associate-with-you kind of way. He genuinely wanted to help. And help he did.

It had been a year now since Jason had left, but it wasn’t like he’d been radio silent. The Family had kept up with him, every member of the gang going so far as to call him at least every other week, and they’d helped him work through a majority of his issues, even from afar. They’d teamed up a few times, too, outside of Gotham. It was how he’d met Damian. And Cass. And the new Batgirl, Stephanie Brown.

He still wasn’t sure he deserved everything they’d given him—their trust, their love, their forgiveness—but he wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m not judging,” Tim said. “You didn’t say much about it, and we all wondered if you’d give up the life entirely after your last team decided to go their separate ways. Or if you’d maybe just...start over. Like Nightwing did.”

Jason shook his head. “There’s no giving up this life.”

It had been hard to remember, when he’d been on his rampage, but Robin had given him _magic._ He might not be Robin anymore, but he could make his own magic again. He knew he could. He just needed to be out there, doing what he did best. He’d do it all, so long as he was saving people, and better yet: giving them a reason to be _better_ than their circumstances.

That was his purpose, and he wasn’t about to forget it again.

“Red Hood is a reminder,” he said simply.

Tim got it. He always did. He was a pretty cool kid, Jason had to admit.

“You going solo tonight?” Tim asked.

Jason shrugged. “Not sure yet.”

The shark-like grin that scared the living shit out of most common thugs appeared on Red Robin’s face. “Well, if you’ve got nothing better to do, why not get your feet wet? We could use a hand with Penguin. He’s planning something with Tiger Shark, we think. There may be a third player, too.”

“We?” Jason asked.

“This is a big one,” Red said. “The whole Family’s in on it.”

“One hell of a welcome home,” Jason muttered. He considered it and then shrugged. “Sure, why the hell not?”

Red Robin beamed at him. “Thank _God_. I owe you. Big time. I would have been paired up with the Demon Spawn if you said no.”

Jason spluttered, and before he could retort, Tim launched himself from the roof with a light _whoop_. Nightwing’s influence, no doubt.

“What a little shit,” Jason said, almost fondly, and he was about to shove his helmet back on when a light rustle of fabric on stone alerted him to a presence behind him.

He spun around, drawing one of his pistols, and stopped short.

A woman with eyes as black as coal stared back at him, cocking her head. Her dark hair floated eerily around her, her toes barely brushing the ground.

Somehow, Jason knew her on sight.

“You,” he said, lowering his weapon.

“Me,” she agreed. Her eyes sparkled like starlight. “And you. No longer so blue, not you. And still standing, I see. You’re _free._ ”

There were a million questions he could ask her. What _was_ she? Where did she come from? What sort of magic did she think she was playing around with? What about his past-self? Was everything still okay with him? What had she sacrificed, to do this for him? For _them_?

Two new universes. Two new Jason Todds, each living lives distinct and separate from each other. Happy, healthy, and thriving. All because of _her._ Surely there weren’t some massive cosmic repercussions for that?

“Why?” he asked the being before him. “Why me?”

She giggled, and with her eyes crinkling at the corners, she said, “Why? Well, whyever not?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Quoted from Batman #416
> 
> I’m still standing, looking better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid. I’m still standing, after all this time. -I'm Still Standing (Elton John)


End file.
